


Beasts

by ametis



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bestiality, Choking, Knotting, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, PWP, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-09 09:44:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14713706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ametis/pseuds/ametis
Summary: Hannibal tells a lie about his sex life and has to live with the consequences. Will doesn't lie but he doesn't tell the truth either.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags. 
> 
> When I started writing this, my excuse was "it's Halloween soon." Now there's no excuse at all.

“What happened to your neck?" Will asks slowly. He is standing in Hannibal's kitchen, looking tired and yet too bright-eyed all of a sudden.

Hannibal doesn't allow himself any external reaction even though he is caught off-guard. Not by the question, but by the fact that he forgot to conceal the scrape from last night's hunt. It must've worsened over night. He can feel it like a brand on the side of his neck now. It's clearly visible in his bathrobe, but he has been playing this game too long to give something away this easily — he puts out two cups, continues to make coffee. 

“My body links certain pain with pleasure," he says at last and watches, delighted, as Will takes that in — his chest expands with a deep breath, his gaze moves away from the mark on Hannibal's neck, as if to give him privacy that was denied before.

It's lovely. 

"Sorry," Will says. "None of my business."

Hannibal smiles. "You were curious." He fills one cup and hands it to Will. "I appreciate curiosity.”

Will nods with a wry smile, and looks ready to drop the subject. His willingness to accept anything other than what his mind must make out of all the little things it stored away for Hannibal is fascinating. In the space between them, the scent of his fever rises, its sweetness mingling with the scent of freshly ground coffee. Hannibal wants to drown in it. 

“Thank you for being honest,” Will says. “I tend to... see ugly things where there isn't anything.” He clears his throat and looks down at the cup in his hands. "Shouldn't injuries be avoided?" he asks with a blank face, careful not to project emotions. 

It makes Hannibal smile. What does Will imagine? Sharp heels, leather and red painted lips? Surely, there's no room for such a trite idea in his brilliant mind. 

“You're right," Hannibal says. "It was accidental." He fills another cup and takes a first sip of strong coffee. "Not unwanted in the heat of the moment," he adds just to see Will struggle with that piece of information.

Will shakes his head and says something under his breath, too quietly to be heard. His gaze wanders around the kitchen. "Need to get away from it all sometimes.”

Hannibal inclines his head as if in agreement. He'd hardly describe his leisure activities like that. At this moment, though, his person suit and the busy schedule that comes with it is a welcome excuse. "Ever feel the need to get away from it all, Will?"

Will laughs, a hoarse little sound that needs practice, and shakes his head. There is color rising to his cheeks, bringing the telltale scent of arousal and nervous energy with it. He doesn't mention the scrape again, doesn't ask where Hannibal had been the previous night, too busy reconstructing the image he had of Hannibal perhaps.

Hannibal doesn't mind. His curiosity when it comes to Will is more important than any temporary misconception about him. He congratulates himself for a good lie and drinks more of the delicious coffee.

-

"What do you find arousing about pain, Dr. Lecter?" 

Will is standing at the window in Hannibal's office, shoulders tense and hands hidden in his pockets. He doesn't look at Hannibal when he speaks. "Is it the pain or the trust that must come with letting someone hurt you like that.”

Hannibal blinks. His thoughts wander back to the previous night and his appointment with a very rude lawyer. What had transpired afterwards barely deserves to be called a fight. An inelegant scramble perhaps, on the lawyer's part. Hannibal had watched him waste his energy on the rope around his wrists and ankles. There is nothing on Hannibal’s body to give that away. The scrape on his neck is long healed, too. "Both," he says, curious to see how Will is going to proceed. “Why are you asking?"

Will sighs and turns around. "Just trying to get into that particular mindset."

"For a case?"

Will nods. "The Strangler." His mouth twists with unease at the nickname, no matter how fitting it is.

"We talked about him," Hannibal reminds him. There is nothing that suggests pleasure has anything to do with how the killer chooses his victims. Will was the first to point that out. 

“Maybe I was wrong about him,” Will says as if he can hear Hannibal's thoughts. The defensive tone of his voice suggests that he hardly believes what he is saying. Something else has brought this on. An epiphany perhaps. Something that has caught his eye before and looks different now in this new light he sees Hannibal in.

Hannibal watches the careful steps Will takes towards his desk and back again, the frown on his face. “That is not why you're asking,” he says. 

"Fine," Will says, sighing heavily. A defeat he must have prepared for, maybe even anticipated, if the quick yielding is to go by. He gingerly makes his way to the waiting chair and sits on it as if it were made of thorns. "You got me. Your admission surprised me."

"What surprised you about it?"

Will’s face becomes deadly serious in a split second, not a hint of misplaced doubt left. "Everything," he breathes.

Hannibal goes still, the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He waits for the logical conclusion Will came to, for his own inevitable decision to spill blood. When he gets nothing but Will's visible fight against logic and fear, he stands and walks over to him.

"Would you like to see for yourself?" 

Will's mouth drops open. Every one of his thoughts seems to fly out of his head. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights, with just enough danger left in his posture to make Hannibal fall to his knees. 

“Put your hands on me,” Hannibal says.

Will does it as if he can't stop himself. A gentle touch on Hannibal's shoulders that falls away when Hannibal so much as takes a deeper breath. 

"Around my throat," Hannibal suggests.

Will gasps and does as he is told. His hands are clammy with nervous sweat. Hannibal can smell it better this close.

"Squeeze," he says. It's not too difficult to look affected, given the lack of oxygen and Will’s exact knowledge where to apply pressure. 

Hannibal lifts one hand when it gets too much, and Will lets go even though he looks like he is losing his mind.

"I was wrong about you," Will says, confused and panting like their places are reversed. "I'm usually not wrong about people."

"Squeeze."

Will shakes but obeys. "I don't want to hurt you," he says even as his hold tightens. Sadly, he doesn't understand the privileged situation he is in. The last time someone tried to choke Hannibal they ended up on his plate. 

"I enjoy it," Hannibal tells him, voice strained, held at bay by Will's hands. "What do you enjoy?"

Will looks like a man who hasn't been asked that particular question in a long time — by his own choice no doubt. His mouth is too soft, the line of his jaw too sharp to not invite people's interest. Will inhales shakily and takes his hands away, puts them on his own knees. A blush creeps up his sweaty neck. 

"I can show you," he says at last, the quietness of his voice intriguing. 

What could he come up with that makes him flush so beautifully? 

-

Will wants to take back the offer the moment Hannibal steps out of his car and onto the porch. Regret is written all over his face, bringing a sour scent with it. Still, he opens the front door and welcomes Hannibal in. 

The dogs are waiting for them with curious barks and wiggling tails. They sniff and lick at Hannibal's outstretched hand, hoping for a treat.

“Next time,” Hannibal promises.

“They like you,” Will says, crouching to greet one dog after the other. When everyone is satisfied, Will stands and opens the door to let them out before heading to the kitchen, while avoiding eye contact — which isn’t new at all, but still makes Hannibal’s curiosity grow. He doesn’t try to hide it.

Will comes back with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

Outside, they sit on the narrow bench under the living room window and watch the full moon rise. The whiskey is good, and good enough a topic when one wants to dodge other questions. Neither of them seems sure about how they got here and how they should proceed.

It’s as thrilling as it is confusing.

Out here, the sounds of nature are loud. Insects and birds and other creatures Hannibal can't identify. The dogs yelp excitedly, running up and down the yard. 

In all of that, Will's breath is the thing Hannibal pays the most attention to. The little sigh that comes after every taste of whiskey, the deep gulps of air Will takes every few moments as if he's bracing himself for something, the sharp exhale through his teeth when the dogs’ play-fighting goes a little too far.

Hannibal listens and smiles.

“I'm not sure about it,” Will says after he finishes his drink. He refills their glasses and settles more heavily against Hannibal's side. It's cold enough this late that the places they touch feel hot. Will's palm when it brushes Hannibal’s knee is scorching. 

“I might scare you away.”

Hannibal can't imagine anything Will could should him that would accomplish that. His excitement is a flutter in his chest. Anticipation and something else, something more dangerous. “I doubt it,” he says and takes another sip of whiskey. 

Will nods. “Just a fair warning.” He stands on wobbly legs and whistles sharply. A moment later, the dogs come from every corner of the yard and hurry past them inside.

“You'll need shoes,” Will says.

“I am wearing shoes.” Hannibal can't keep a smile off his face despite his confusion. 

Will grins back, obviously warmed by whiskey and adrenalin. “Boots,” he clarifies. “We're going that way.” He gestures towards the tree line beyond his yard, and follows the dogs inside.

“Oh,” Hannibal says into the night, left alone with confused anticipation and a full glass of whiskey. He empties it in the bushes. A pity really — Will has excellent taste — but he needs a clear head for whatever this evening will turn out to be. The letter opener in his coat feels heavy against all logic. Hannibal hopes he doesn't have to use it. 

Will looks a little less anxious when he comes back out, carrying a pair of boots and flashlights. The flashlights he hands over to Hannibal, the boots he keeps. He looks at Hannibal with an inscrutable expression. In the light of a naked light bulb, he looks like something feral. Something dangerous.

Then he kneels.

“Oh, that's not—” Hannibal says, but words dissolve on his tongue when Will touches his ankle with soft, warm hands. He unties Hannibal’s shoes gently and takes them off one after the other. 

A heavy ache comes to life in Hannibal's gut. He doesn’t stir. It doesn’t happen often that others surprise him, so the feeling is captivating. He lets it consume him entirely for a moment, then slowly reaches for Will, lifting his face out of the deep shadow at Hannibal’s feet. 

Will lets him, but keeps his attention on the boots. When they’re tied, he looks up at Hannibal with a small smile. “Let’s go,” he says. 

Hannibal follows him. 

In the crisp still air around them, Hannibal smells something other than fever and alcohol on him. Something a little more artificial that he can't place yet. It's faint, so it takes a while for him to identify it as lubricant. 

One corner of his mouth lifts. 

Beyond the tree line, it's dark enough that without the flashlights, Hannibal would be lost within minutes, despite his superb sense of direction. The fields around Will's property are still a mystery to him, though, especially after dark. In the sea of trees, the darkness seems endless. The light of the full moon barely reaches them.

“Almost there,” Will says quietly. 

Hannibal stays behind a little, lifting the flashlight to better see Will, to watch without being watched. There is a nervousness around Will that seems out of place considering he is calling the shots. Is a little bit of public sex really what has Will all sweaty and breathless? Hannibal hasn’t thought he is a prude. A shame really, and all the more fun to bring out the uncontrolled parts of him, be it in blood or sweat.

The noise is the first thing that makes Hannibal reconsider his guess. The closer they get, the louder it becomes. Harsh and deep. They aren’t alone. Something wild awaits them. Something with claws.

“Light off,” Will says as he does the same. “I don't know what to call it,” he adds, stepping carefully through a last line of trees and into a clearing. The moon light is bright here, making the flashlights indeed unnecessary. A stream runs somewhere close by. The burbling of water is the only sound other than the harsh breathing.

“Werewolf sounds too much like a movie, doesn’t it?” 

Hannibal follows Will's gaze and spots something dark opposite them. Taller and broader than a human but not by much, the skin covered in thick fur except for its naked chest and belly. A mix between man and wolf. A beast in the truest meaning of the word. It’s still as it watches them, teeth gleaming in the moon light, chest rising and falling quickly. 

Hannibal feels his mind jump between possible and impossible things that might explain this.

“It-it likes me,” Will says quietly beside him. The moment he does, the beast moves, walking on all fours that’s reminiscent of apes. When it's close enough to touch, it presses its muzzle to Will's stomach. “Can't be sure,” Will slurs. “I never stay after.”

After? The question dies on Hannibal's tongue as he watches the beast pull Will easily to the ground and a few feet away from him. Will doesn't protest. Not even when the beast starts licking at his crotch. 

That same scent of shame and arousal comes off him, and Hannibal understands now. He clicks the flashlight on to see better, and a marrow-deep growl makes him almost drop it. The beast shows its teeth and crouches over Will. Hannibal quickly turns the light off.

“Doesn't like brightness,” Will says, craning his neck to look up at him. He reaches a hand out to Hannibal. “Come,” he says.

Another growl makes Hannibal stop. The beast pushes harder and licks faster, soaking the fabric of Will's jeans and making it tacky. Under it, the jut of Will's erection jerks and grows harder as Hannibal keeps looking. 

“I-I didn't think it'd be like this,” Will says, still looking up at him. He intends to say more, but the beast moves quickly. It turns him and presses him into the grass, belly first. Will's protests are muffled and soon trail off entirely; he isn't trying to get away, or stop it.

Fascinating.

Claws catch on the rough fabric of Will's jeans, careful not to hurt. A frustrated growl follows. Some part of the human underneath must be present even in this form: the beast doesn't tear or bite. Not even when Will unfastens his jeans and pulls them down. 

The frustrated growls turn deep and happy instead. The beast licks and nuzzles its way between Will's legs even while Will is still trying to push his jeans down to his ankles and spread his legs more. He bends one knee to allow better access, and then he stops moving altogether.

Hannibal can't take his eyes off him.

He counts on the beast's distraction as he moves closer — slowly. He has fought bigger man than himself before but he doubts he could take this beast, especially since the men all had the disadvantage of not knowing what was coming for them.

It works. The beast growls and Will with it, but it doesn't move from its place between Will's spread legs.

Hannibal is close enough now to see the sheen of saliva on Will's skin, and the way the beast’s wet tongue manages to make Will's hole spasm with each unfocused lick.

The scent of arousal and sweat and wilderness rises to Hannibal's nose, touches some primal part in his brain that makes the hot weight in his gut from before flare up again. 

Will lifts his head slowly. “First time I thought it wanted to eat me,” he says, then smothers a laugh against his own arm. His fingers dig into the grass.

“When was the first time?” Hannibal asks. 

“Four months ago,” Will says. He goes quiet. Preparing perhaps for what is to come — the beast isn't satisfied for long with its actions. Its red engorged penis peeks from the sheath, ready. 

Hannibal stays rooted to the spot. He isn't sure if he is supposed to stop what is about to happen. He isn't sure if he is supposed to be doing anything at all. Will wanted to show him, so he watches as the beast takes Will's jacket between fangs and holds, close to his neck. Its claws swipe over Will's skin in their haste, leaving small incisions behind and filling the air with the metallic scent of blood. 

“Careful,” Will says urgently as he is lifted to his knees with a strong tug on his jacket. The first thrust makes him lose his balance. He braces himself more firmly. “Careful,” he says again and reaches between his own thighs. His fingers wrap around the beast's penis and guide it to his hole, and instantly the beast begins to thrust in a strange combination of human restraint and animal hunger.

Will's head hangs between his shoulders, his mouth open. A deep shudder runs through his body.

Hannibal can't stop himself from stepping closer. 

In reaction, the beast thrusts harder, faster.

“Oh,” Will whimpers. "Please.”

Hannibal looks up at the darkness that is this creatures face and takes another step forward until he can kneel in front of Will and touch his cheek.

“Is it hurting you?” he asks.

Will is jolted back and forth with each hard thrust. It takes a moment for him to speak. “Yes,” he hisses. “It’s good.” His eyes are bright. They catch on Hannibal's throat where earlier tonight his hands had felt good and safe.

“You-you understand,” Will says before a particularly hard thrust makes him bury his face against Hannibal's stomach. 

The feeling of possessiveness in Hannibal's chest is unexpected and leaves him a little breathless. He watches Will shake under the weight of the beast over him, pressed close to his body. Its breath is moist and hot against Hannibal's arm. Now that it has secured its mate, it doesn't seem to see Hannibal as a threat anymore. It licks his hand, almost apologetically.

Hannibal resists the urge to show his own teeth in response. He moves his arm away and lifts Will's head.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Will nods. “It's got a knot,” he gasps with a chuckle. The beast chooses that moment to start moving faster and Will is once again lost in it. His body goes rigid and hot. By the time the beast's movements become irregular, Will seems to be close himself; he can't still his hips even with the beast on top of him. He is obviously on the edge and being denied by something that isn’t human enough to understand his frustration, which seems to push him even more. The beast growls one last time and presses him onto the ground, their bodies locked, judging by Will's hurt cry, and a moment later the scent of Will's climax fills the air. He is shaking and gasping for breath, jerking under the beast. 

He is magnificent in his strength. Hannibal strokes the sweaty curls from his face. 

It takes a while for the beast to start moving again, although not as long as Hannibal had assumed. Will stops it the moment it starts. In a flurry of movement, he lifts off its soft penis and pulls his jeans up, twisting under it and putting his feet against its chest. “No,” he says, loud and clear, as if he is commanding one of his dogs.

The beast makes a hurt sound and tries to lick its way up Will's leg, only for Will to push a little harder and say no again. Whatever humane part is left in this strange thing, it listens and pulls away.

“Fascinating,” Hannibal tells Will. 

The beast lingers, sniffing the ground next to Will's hip and making small whining sounds. It moves in a small circle before Will and nudges his body with its wet muzzle for a while, licking any part it can reach.

Will watches it the entire time, waiting patiently, even petting it. When it runs off after a few more moments, he sighs, legs and arms spread out on the ground. He is still close enough to touch, so Hannibal does. For the first time in a long while, he doesn't know what else to do with his hands.

Will lies still for a while longer and when he tries to stand, he can't do it by himself. He needs help on the way back to his house, too, leaving Hannibal to wonder how he does this by himself. Is he not as generous with his drinks as he was tonight, or does his fever play into this?

“Shower,” Will says as they step onto the porch. 

Hannibal agrees; the scent of wilderness and blood is strong. He helps Will take the ruined clothes off and step into the shower stall, watches the water wash the blood and dirt away, as if it was never there.

Afterwards, in his bed, in fresh clothes and barely conscious, Will kisses Hannibal, soft and slow. He shivers despite the two blankets on top of him. A fresh layer of sweat makes his skin glow. The moment he closes his eyes, he falls asleep.

“Good night,” Hannibal says.

The dogs don't stir as Hannibal makes his way back outside, used to Will wandering around or coming home at odd hours. Hannibal sits on the porch and allows himself twenty minutes of silence and contemplation. Then he stands and slowly makes his way back to the woods.

-

“Can you hear me?”

The young man looks hungover, but otherwise completely unharmed. His body must be still very forgiving no matter his night time activities; it’s clearly in its prime. Or perhaps that’s just the man’s strange biology. 

Hannibal regrets that he missed the transformation, but all things considered it’s for the best. Who knows how the beast would've reacted at seeing him without Will.

The man groans and sits slowly up. He seems sensitive even to the soft light of grey dawn. “Where,” he says, then groans louder. “Right.”

“What's your name?” Hannibal asks.

“Kyle.”

“It's nice to meet you, Kyle. Do you know where you are? Do you know what happened?”

Kyle squints up at Hannibal through the strands of his long hair. He can't be any older than mid-twenties. “What did you see?” he asks carefully before burying his face in his hands.

“Enough,” Hannibal tells him. “What happened?”

Kyle sighs. “I don't know.” There is a whine in his voice that reminds Hannibal of his growls hours earlier. “I don't know what happened.” He drops his hands, and Hannibal spots a scar on his shoulder, mouth-shaped and ugly. He touches it carefully.

“Is this part of it?”

Kyle looks down and nods. 

“Who bit you?”

“I don't know,” Kyle says again. “When I woke up she was gone. No number, no name. Just this.” He gestures at his body. 

“When does it happen?”

“Full moon.”

“Naturally,” Hannibal says. It's a pity that Kyle can't tell him more. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

The question brings a somber look to Kyle's face. He mulls over his options, clearly upset by his memories. By the time he decides to speak, his eyes must have adjusted a little more. He looks up at Hannibal with a frown. “Dr. Lecter?” he says.

Hannibal is taken aback but nods. “Yes.”

“You're working with Mr. Graham.” His mouth twists. “Mr. Graham. I thought he could help me find her. He's good at this.”

"How do you know Will Graham?" 

"I'm one of his students." 

“Is that why you come to him when you transform?”

Kyle shakes his head. “I don't do it on purpose, not after the first time anyway.” He smells very strongly of shame now, looking at Hannibal's shoes. 

Hannibal can see where that first visit must have gone wrong: Kyle with his inexperience and a transformation he obviously cannot control. And Will, lovely Will, bold and warm. 

Did Kyle talk himself into going to Will afterwards and telling him about their night?

Hannibal smiles at the thought. How many conflicted feelings Will would drag himself through if he were to find out that the beast remembers and knows him. That it is in fact one of his students.

“Wolves mate for life,” Hannibal tells Kyle and watches his eyes widen in shock and horror.

“Oh God,” Kyle groans and turns a little pale. He pulls his legs up to his chest, at last some sense of modesty seems to return to him. “Can you help me, Dr. Lecter?” he says. “Please?”

Hannibal blinks at him, his attention divided in too many different directions at once. He needs more time to decide his next step. “I _can_ offer you a ride home.” 

-

Will is still asleep when Hannibal slips back inside. The dogs don’t stir and neither does Will – until Hannibal lies down next to him. His breathing changes, he moves closer to Hannibal, then freezes. 

In the few seconds before Hannibal opens his eyes, Will doesn't even seem to breathe. Hannibal smiles at him. “Morning.”

“Hey,” Will whispers. “So I didn’t scare you off.”

“No, not at all,” Hannibal assures him. This early in the morning, there is no scent of shame or regret on Will, only that of himself. Hannibal moves a little closer to him. 

“Sorry for falling asleep on you like that,” Will says. “It's a first.”

“No need to apologize,” Hannibal says. "How do you feel about breakfast and a talk?”

Will shakes his head. "Coffee and a talk."

“Deal," Hannibal says. "And then dinner tonight at my place?”

“You’re very determined to feed me.” Will's laugh is relaxed and genuine. "Did you take a look at my fridge last night? Are you in shock?"

Hannibal smiles. “I feel inspired,” he says truthfully. “And I want to cook for you.” He presses a soft kiss to Will’s knuckles. “Yes or no?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Did I tell Mr. Graham?” Kyle says. “No.” He is occupying the chair opposite Hannibal and completely unappreciative of the fact that he won't be paying for Hannibal's time, if the way he is looking at his watch is anything to go by.

Hannibal gives him another moment to mull over the question. He isn't usually this forward, preferring to let his patients get where he wants them on their own. An influence is hardly traceable then. 

With Kyle a bold start to their conversation is the only option. There is nothing left of the scared boy Hannibal had found naked in the woods last week. Instead his behavior is an exaggerated act of dominance that isn't uncommon in male victims of sexual assault. A coping mechanism Hannibal could've done without.

“No,” Kyle says, decisive. “I don't think so.” Nervousness makes him snappy and rude. Something he has in common with Will. He spreads his legs a little more, runs his fingers through his hair as if he's forgotten that he put it up in a bun. “Any other suggestions?”

Hannibal reminds himself that Kyle is an FBI trainee and certain suggestions need to wait. He settles into the chair more comfortably. “Tell me about the first time you transformed.” 

“Four months ago,” Kyle says. He frowns as if he needs to think about it. Sweat is forming along his hair line that has probably little to do with the leather jacket he refused to take off and everything with the topic of their conversation.

“I felt-I felt strange, but I ignored it,” Kyle says, shaking his head at past decisions. “I stay late to go to the gym and I must have passed out or something, because next thing I know I'm out in the parking lot and Mr. Graham is there.”

“Did he see you transform?”

Kyle shakes his head. “Maybe he heard something. I don't know. He got in his car and drove off, but I kept thinking about her, the woman who bit me. I had this-this stupid idea that he could help me find her. I thought she drugged me.” He takes a deep breath. “Mr. Graham was — I couldn't not follow him.”

“Why?”

“He was the only other living thing close to me and nothing made sense until I had him under me.” 

“Did you hurt him?” Hannibal asks carefully. He wouldn't want to display the tender feeling in his gut before he doesn’t understand it himself.

Kyle’s face is blank. He shakes his head slowly, eyes unfocused, clearly revisiting that night. “Mr. Graham was easy to convince,” he says. “Must be pretty lonely if he bends over—"

“Kyle,” Hannibal says.

“Shit, sorry.” Kyle emerges from whatever thoughts he was in. “Don't you find it strange, though?” he says quietly. “He didn't question it at all.”

Perhaps just the way he doesn't question Hobbs’ visits anymore. A lack of fantasy is not something Will can be accused of. Did he think he made up the beast that first time, giving it a taste by accident and then being unable to stop? Their talk the morning after Will showed him this strange thing was hardly enough for all the questions Hannibal has. Will was slow to answer even half of them, and then his mouth was on Hannibal's, and thoughts came slowly. 

Hannibal clears his throat. “When you're in your other form,” he says, “do you desire to hurt him?”

“Not really.”

“How much is left of you?”

Kyle shrugs. “I feel like it gets easier every month,” he says with a distant look in his eyes. “That first time I remembered only blurry images, the next time more.” He looks up sharply. “I remember you were there last week.”

Hannibal nods.

“A strange relationship for coworkers,” Kyle says.

“Not stranger than yours and Will Graham’s, I believe.”

“Will,” Kyle says, testing the name and deciding it's not to his liking. "Mr. Graham figured it out pretty quickly. The dogs got really scared the first time, so the next time I show up at his house, he keeps yelling at me, pushing until he's got me out in the fields and further into the woods.”

Hannibal suppresses a smile.

“He is- he's" Kyle trails off. “I want to bite him when— after.”

“You must fight that urge.”

“Why?”

“You know why,” Hannibal says. 

“It feels good, you know. Like I'm invincible. I'm sure someone like Mr. Graham would appreciate feeling strong.”

Someone like Will Graham would become deadly with that kind of power. A fact that seems to go over dear Kyle's head. Hannibal doesn't correct him.

“It's not my permission you should be seeking.”

Kyle sighs. “I know,” he says at last.

-

It's their third date, but Will’s lingering touches throughout the evening have very little to do with that, Hannibal is sure. Neither of them is too constricted by social norms to count dates, especially after their first night together.

It must be the fact that they are finally alone that seems to speed things up. There're no calls from Jack to distract them, no dogs demanding attention, no animals of a different kind. 

After the first deep kiss, Hannibal spares no more thoughts on why exactly Will decided to sit in his lap tonight. He takes Will's hips in his hands and holds, face turned up for more kisses. It's good. Good enough to distract him from their conversation about werewolves and days of the month.

Will presses their bodies together in a line of heat. Around Hannibal's hips, Will's thighs tense and hold. The evidence of his arousal is unmistakable this close.

Hannibal is glad he is sitting down. “It’s next week, isn't it?”

Will hums and presses their mouths together again, then stops abruptly. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks, a hint of shame in his voice.

“No.”

“God,” Will says, a sigh of relief. “Never wanted this before.” He cups Hannibal's growing erection and squeezes gently. “It was all I could think about at dinner.”

“I noticed,” Hannibal tells him, tapping the side of his nose. 

Will grins at him. “Sorry, I couldn't have stopped if I wanted to.”

“But you didn't want to,” Hannibal says. “Is that right?”

The question dispels all amusement from Will's face. His voice is rough when he speaks. “I didn't want to stop.” The kiss that follows is deep and slow, his hot mouth melting against Hannibal's. His teeth find tongue and lip, bite and lick, then he offers his own in return.

Hannibal is the one to break the kiss. He does it reluctantly. “I think it'd be better to move upstairs.”

“I think you're right.” 

Neither of them moves. At least not to get up. Will's hands are quick on their pants, opening belts and pushing fabric aside until he can press their cocks together. It's a sensation Hannibal hasn't experienced before, overwhelming in its basic pleasure. He catalogues each detail, the heat and weight of Will against him, the jump of muscle, the scent. It leaves him breathless. 

“Oh God,” Will whispers and stops touching himself. “I'm close.” He is wet, his cock a deep pink to match his kiss-swollen lips.

“Show me,” Hannibal says, helpless to resist the base need for it. 

Will's scent grows more heated, pre-ejaculate and sweat. It makes Hannibal's hands clench and pull harder. The noise this elicits from Will isn't unlike the ones he made on his knees in the woods. Hannibal's fingers tighten a little more, make an instrument of skin and flesh.

“Like this,” Will says after a few more breathless moments of skin on skin. He spits in his hand and wraps it around Hannibal. His other hand lands on Hannibal's throat, squeezing gently, as if he isn’t sure how much strength he is allowed to exert. 

Hannibal's cock jerks.

“Yeah?” Will says, a dark glint in his eyes.

Not that Hannibal has ever allowed the people he slept with to do this to him, but apparently there isn’t anything he won't agree to when it comes to Will. He nods and gets more of Will's strength directed at him. Fingers squeeze and release rhythmically, both on his throat and cock. 

“Tell me when you're close,” Will says, figuring out quickly what Hannibal actually likes: long slow strokes, interrupted with a few quicker ones around the head. The touches make Hannibal sweat and gasp for breath soon, not only as a result of Will’s hand crushing his windpipe. He doesn't particularly enjoy the loss of power that comes with this, but the part of him that wants Will in a simple manner is tumbling head first into it. 

“Will,” he gasps after a short while. 

“Yes.” 

Then it's their skin pressed together again and Will's hips surging forward, his breath hot on Hannibal’s face, pausing and exploding in time with his hand on them.

“Hannibal,” Will whispers right before he comes. 

Hannibal watches the way Will's mouth drops further open and his eyes close, the sheen of sweat on his throat. A soft cry falls from Will's lips, and Hannibal allows himself to fall too. To be blind to everything else except Will. To enjoy the seconds that feel like eternity.

“Jesus,” Will says, head resting on Hannibal's shoulder. His breath, just like Hannibal's, is ragged and loud. “Sorry.”

“What for?”

The mess between them is cooling rapidly. Will rubs it into Hannibal's skin to direct his attention to it. He looks like he is about to lick his hand clean, then decides against it. A pity.

“I can't imagine that this is your idea of a fun night,” Will says, standing on shaking legs and pushing his pants down. 

“I hope you start imagining it more often,” Hannibal tells him, happy to see it brings a smile to Will's face. It's not regret that makes Will hesitate now, more the hasty culmination of the shivering anticipation that tinged their every date. 

Hannibal hands him the handkerchief he always carries and waits his turn to use it, dabbing slowly at still hot flesh and ruined clothes.

Finally, he can put it aside and pull Will close again, until Will's mouth is under his again, soft and warm. The gentle scent of fever rises as they kiss and makes Hannibal pull away. He inspects Will's face closely. Their proximity grants him a number of advantages. He can press his lips and fingers to Will's forehead without suspicion, look deeply into his eyes and pass if off as a romantic gesture.

Will smiles, eyes dark and half-lidded. 

“Would you like to stay here tonight?” Hannibal offers.

“Yes.”

They go to bed earlier than Hannibal usually does, but Will seems exhausted all of a sudden. He clings to Hannibal when they lie down, presses his hot body to Hannibal's back. It's distracting enough to keep Hannibal awake. He is counting the proverbial sheep when Will starts pressing his hips against him, his breath coming in small gasps whenever his erection comes in contact with Hannibal's hip. 

It happens a couple times during the night, and so by morning Will is so worked up that Hannibal doesn't have to do much other than take him in his mouth and bob his head a couple times.

Will shivers apart like it’s the easiest thing in the world, pulling on Hannibal's hair, and smelling different than he did the night before.

-

The next evening, Will calls to let Hannibal know he won't make their appointment. A body was found. They think it's the Ripper. 

Hannibal drinks to Jack's obsession, just one glass of wine to accompany his light dinner, and makes his way to Will’s house.

Kyle isn't happy by the change of plans. His whines and howls are loud in the night, the pacing gets frenzied soon, and the longer Will stays away the more he seems like the animal he currently is. 

Hannibal watches from a distance. The tree line seems like a border that Kyle can't cross. Hannibal moves closer, watches saliva drip from sharp teeth. He steps close enough to put a soothing hand on Kyle's neck. “He won’t come tonight,” he tells him, and commits Kyle's anguished howl to memory. 

The rest of the night passes in much the same manner; Kyle is restless and wild, but he doesn't go where Will didn't allow him to go.

-

Hannibal is just done with his shower when he hears someone moving downstairs. They aren't careful about making noise, so he isn’t too concerned that his plans for the day will change.

He steps out of the bathroom, draping the towel in his hands around his shoulders, and is about to reach for the closest sharp object when he hears heavy steps come up the stairs. Hannibal recognizes the shuffle of feet, the sigh, and scent. 

He walks to the bedroom and waits. 

A moment later, Will carefully opens the bedroom door a little more, smiling when he sees that Hannibal is awake. Then he seems to realize that he is completely naked and the smile drops from his face. His eyes follow every inch of Hannibal's body. Slowly as if he'll never get the chance again.

What a ridiculous thought. 

Hannibal drops the towel and steps closer. “Hello, Will.”

Will’s eyes move up quickly, a sheepish smile on his face. “Why are you up so early?” he whispers. 

The lack of greeting or an explanation on why Will is here makes Hannibal smile. “I have an early appointment,” he whispers back. “What about you?”

Will doesn't seem to hear any of it, too busy putting his hands on Hannibal's body. The simplicity of his distraction makes Hannibal burn with an unexpected curiosity. This close Hannibal can see the redness in Will’s eyes, the tired slump of his shoulders. He looks like he might fall asleep standing up.

“Will?”

“I uh.” Will looks up from where he was tracing the line of hair down Hannibal's stomach. “Chesapeake Ripper,” he says. “I just got back and I.”

“You didn't want to leave me alone?”

“Something like that,” Will says, his hand dropping down between Hannibal's legs, warm and careful. When he presses their mouths together, he tastes of cheap coffee. Second-hand odor of blood and despair surround him. He smells like he was immerged in Hannibal's latest work the entire night. And then he came right to the source of it. 

Clever boy.

Hannibal bites down quick and hard enough to make Will jerk against him, pulling away instinctively, but only for that first split of a second. Then Will offers his mouth willingly, his heart beating out a strong rhythm under Hannibal's palm.

Hannibal smiles into the next kiss.

“When do you have to leave?” Will asks against his mouth.

“Soon,” Hannibal says, distracted by how much he likes having Will against him fully dressed while he wears nothing but his skin. An idea he'd like to explore more closely.

“It's not even six,” Will says, his eyes dark. He puts both hands on Hannibal's chest and pushes once, hard enough to make Hannibal lose his balance and land on the bed. He doesn't take his eyes off Hannibal when he starts undressing. “I want you.”

“Will,” Hannibal says in warning, just to see what will happen if Will is denied. 

“Please,” Will says. “I'll make it good.” His pupils are dilated. Hannibal assumes the reason is not just the faint light in the room. As if on cue, the scent of fever grows stronger around them. It makes Will sway a little. He either doesn’t realize, or doesn’t care. “Please,” he says again, crawling between Hannibal's legs, naked and sweating. He puts his mouth on Hannibal's throat and one clever hand on Hannibal's slowly growing erection. “Please.”

“Only if you devour me completely,” Hannibal tells him, tilting his head up to look him in the eyes. 

It's the right thing to say for the state Will is in. His hips work once, jerking forward instinctively, then he is on Hannibal like it’s the most important thing in the world. He kisses every inch of skin he can reach, rubs his cheek on Hannibal's chest, his hands holding fast.

“God, feels like I'm...”

“What does it feel like, Will?” Hannibal asks. He doesn't get a response other than Will's mouth trailing down his stomach, and soon his curiosity comes second to the pleasure of having Will gag on his cock. It's a feeling unlike any other Hannibal has experienced before, elevated by his compassion for Will.

“Can I fuck you?” Will says against sensitive skin. His mouth is so hot and yielding that Hannibal has difficulty answering until Will pulls off entirely. 

Hannibal reaches for the bottle of lubricant he keeps in the bedside table and flips onto his stomach. He watches over his shoulder at the way Will's face darkens with color and his swollen mouth drops open as he wets his cock with lubricant. His fingers carefully find their way inside Hannibal.

“Can you—?” Will groans, presumably at the way Hannibal tightens around him. “Don't come, ok?” he pants. “I want you inside me after.”

Hannibal smiles into the pillow and lifts his hips for more. “Yes, Will,” he says, but it isn't easy; not when Will is satisfied with his preparations and pushes inside him, slow and searching. 

Hannibal expected this to be rough and quick, but it’s the opposite, and it makes him pant and clutch at the sheets under him like a far less experienced man. He has to focus on keeping his promise when Will picks up the pace and heat spills down his spine, bringing him abruptly close to the edge of orgasm. It's a delicious test of his self-control.

Towards the end of it, he has to lift up on his knees to avoid his cock being teased by the soft sheets. The hard thrusts come then, shove him up the bed until he has to brace against the headboard. Will's hands are claw-like on his hips, keeping him close greedily.

“Will,” he says, unsure how much longer he can take it.

Will answers with a final hard thrust, his hips pressed tightly to Hannibal's. He is as deep as he can get when he comes with a loud groan. “Oh God,” he pants, his hot mouth landing on Hannibal's shoulder. 

They stay like that for a while, Hannibal on the verge of falling, and Will placing lazy kisses along his shoulders and neck. Then he pulls out and reaches for the bottle of lubricant again. 

“Turn over.”

Hannibal does, watching the full body flush that settles over Will's skin as he pushes his own fingers inside himself. His jaw is slack, eyes barely open.

Hannibal puts a soothing hand around himself and waits. 

It doesn’t take long for Will to straddle him and get them both to that bright place again. Hannibal puts his hands on his hips and watches the play of muscle on top of him, tensing and relaxing with every roll of hips. His own pleasure threatens to crest when Will takes his half-hard cock in his hand and tugs roughly.

Hannibal doesn't except him to come again, but this entire experience is full of surprises, it seems. When Will shakes through another orgasm, frowning like it's painful, Hannibal follows helplessly. His hips jerk up for the last couple of thrusts, hands wringing Will's hips.

Will is barely conscious for it. 

Hannibal lays him down gently after, strokes his sweaty hair until he is sure Will is asleep. 

Then he stands on weak legs and marks the day in his calendar.


End file.
